True Stories #1 Anya

A Story by CatHayes

This a part of a collection of stories from my life. This one happened in late 2013- early 2014. The names have been changed for privacy reasons, pronouns are the same.

I shivered in the cold November air, walking to the bus stop and watching a police car turn onto the street. It drove past, stirring the still air around me. The only sound was a small whoosh, and the only light was from the headlights. Just driving normally. But then it stopped on the corner where Anya lived. I didn’t think anything of it when it drove by, but I found it strange when it pulled up to the corner. My first thought was that the officer was lost. But what officer gets lost in the small town they patrol every day?

I arrived at the bus stop, set my violin down, and stood there, trying not to freeze while I observed the cop car. After sitting at the corner for a minute, it turned around and came back toward where I was standing. The window rolled down as the car approached me.

“Are you Anya Smith?” the officer asked me as I stood there shivering.

“No,” I replied, a bit nervous. She thanked me, and then turned around in the driveway across the street. She drove back to the duplex on the corner and pulled into the driveway. The lights went off and she got out. I continued to watch as she walked up to the door of the people living upstairs.

Other students started to wander over to the bus stop after the cop disappeared into the apartment. After a couple more minutes of waiting in a line at the end of a neighbour’s driveway, the bus turned the corner onto the street. The bus driver flipped the inside aisle lights on as they stopped and opened the door. I picked up my violin case and walked up the few steps into the bus. Everyone else followed behind since I had been the first to get there. I sat myself on the first cold vinyl seat behind, the driver and started to browse Instagram on my phone.

Usually, after everyone sits down in their seats, the bus driver would close the door, turn the aisle lights off, and drive away. But on this particular morning, She kept the aisle lights on and the door open, just sitting there. Like she was waiting for something important to happen first. After about thirty seconds of just sitting there, a man poked his head in the door. I recognized this man as Anya's mom's boyfriend. He was out of breath and looked a little panicked.

“Is Anya on the bus?” he puffed. “Has anyone seen her?”

No one had, and she wasn't on the bus. I had absolutely no clue where she was. I hadn't seen her at school for a couple days, but I just figured she was sick.

After he stepped away from the bus a bit, the driver flicked the aisle lights off, closed the doors, and pulled away. After about ten minutes and four more stops, we finally pulled up to the school. I dismounted the bus and stepped into the frigid air. I hurried up the sidewalk toward the entrance to the school. When I pulled the door open, I felt a rush of warmth from inside.

I stopped at my locker, entered the combination on the lock, pushed the handle lock up, and swung the door open. I placed my violin gently on the bottom, set my backpack on the floor, and shed my heavy winter coat, placing it on a hook inside the locker. I unloaded the folders I needed from my bag, then shoved my way through the crowded hallway to the cafeteria, where my friends sat around a circle table in the back corner. We talked for awhile, and I told them about what happened earlier that morning.

We all continued to talk and play on our phones for about twenty minutes. At 7:55, the bell rang, signaling the last 5 minutes before class. We stood, gathering our things. I turned around, my shoes squeaking on the tile as I did so. I noticed Anya’s mother and the school’s officer, Deputy Stanfford, walking toward me at a quick pace.

“I want to talk to you about Anya,” Deputy Stanfford said to me when she got close. So I took my stuff and followed her down the hallway. I stepped into the main office and was immediately told to go sit in the vice principal’s office. I pushed down the cold, silver handle and walked through the doorway. I sat down at the small round table as the door clicked shut behind us.

“So,” Deputy Stanfford started as she sat across from me. “Do you know why I want to talk to you about Anya?”

I replied that I didn't know, and a rush of confusion and worry came over me as I shifted in the small blue plastic chair.

“She’s missing. And I wanted to know if you know anything about where she might be and what she is doing there.”

These types of questions went on for ten or fifteen minutes. I had told the officer that I had messaged her to see where she was, but that I hadn't gotten a reply. I even showed her the message.

After a short time, Deputy Stanfford folded her hands together, set them gently on the table in front of her, and looked me straight in the eye. “You cannot lie to me. If you do, that would be impeding a police investigation. I need you to tell me the truth and tell me everything you know about where she is.”

I, of course, wasn't lying. I really did not know where she was. She could have been anywhere. I didn't know. I wanted to cry. Why would she accuse me of lying like that? If I knew where she was, I would have said so. Why did she assume, just because I lived closest to her and saw her a lot, that I automatically knew where she was and what she was doing?

“I’m not lying,” I managed to squeak out after I cleared the lump in my throat.

I told Deputy Stanfford everything I knew that could possibly help. I also gave her the names of other people that might know. Questions continued for about ten more minutes.

Deputy Stanfford dismissed me and I walked out of the room. The people in the main office gave me a pass, and I went on my way to class.

I sat with one of my friends during lunch later that day. He was browsing through Facebook and then decided to check his messages. Deputy Stanfford told us to inform her if Anya posted anything or messaged us. She hadn't, but she was online. We hurried across the crowded cafeteria to the officer, and told her.

That afternoon, when I stepped off the bus and started walking through the neighbourhood, I realized that.Nothing really seemed off, and it felt just like normal.

That evening, around nine o’clock, right before I went to bed, I noticed that the local news station had posted on their website that ‘A Jenison girl was found in downtown GR’. The guy she was with was arrested at his job, and Anya was returned to her mother. She wasn't at school after that.

During the following January, I saw that someone from school has shared a page on Facebook, entitled ‘Find Anya Rae Smith’. She had disappeared again! This time, I didn't care. She had gotten me into so much trouble over the past year, and I was done caring. I checked the Facebook page every couple of days, just to see if they found her. A week or so later, I saw that she was found in the woods and needed medical care.

Shortly after that, she moved, and I never heard from her again.

The events of Anya’s disappearances were discussed at school and on the bus for months after. And I was constantly asked about her, because I had been her closest friend.